


Letting Off Steam

by gemothy



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene, Train Sex, that's the real reason this fic is rated m, vetinari says fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 15:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22498396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemothy/pseuds/gemothy
Summary: Remember when Sam Vimes decided to stand on the roof of a train and rip his entire shirt off based on a really flimsy excuse? Vetinari does. There's a reason for that.Originally written for the Hogswatch Fic Exchange.
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes
Comments: 15
Kudos: 133





	Letting Off Steam

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I feel I should apologise for my uncontrollable urge to make horrendous puns in the titles of my fics. But I won't. It's what Terry would have wanted. (Even though the content probably isn't, and I'm not sorry for that either.)

Vimes closed the door to the cabin and bolted it shut behind him, leaning back against it for a moment to catch his breath before tugging off the remnants of his tattered shirt. Perhaps yanking the whole thing off to show the grags the mark of the Summoning Dark hadn’t been the best idea, but he’d been under a great deal of pressure at the time- and besides, it wasn’t really his shirt. He stepped forwards into the room and grabbed a clean one that was hanging up by the wall, pulling it on quickly. It wasn’t until he was rolling up the sleeves that he heard a familiar voice drifting out from what passed for a small bed at the side of the cabin.

“Was it _really_ necessary to take your entire shirt off just to show someone your arm?”

“Was it really necessary for _you_ to be looking? I would have thought you were a bit busy.”

Vetinari sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the narrow bunk. “After years running Ankh-Morpork, it becomes second nature to multitask,” he said. “Though I must admit, the occasions where one of those tasks is observing the Commander Vimes show do tend to be the more pleasant ones. And besides,” he added, “I always did like a man in uniform.”

“Yeah,” said Vimes. “I’d noticed.”

Vetinari very nearly smiled, but made no other attempt to acknowledge the comment at all. It was annoying, but, well, that was Vetinari for you- flirting with you one minute and trying to be mysterious the next.

“So,” Vimes continued, “You didn’t die this time, then. Well done.”

“I’m quite capable of defending myself you know, Vimes- it’s not always necessary for you to be my knight in shining armour.”

Vimes snorted. “It’s your fault I’m ever a knight in shining armour at all, stop complaining,” he said. He paused, before adding, “I’m glad you’re alright though.”

“Yes,” said Vetinari quietly. “That feeling is mutual, at least.” He got up, making his way across the cabin towards Vimes; in the few steps it took, Vimes could already see that he was limping slightly, no doubt as an after-effect of the fight they’d just been in. It couldn’t have been easy doing that without the use of his cane, though Vimes suspected that Vetinari was relying on the stoker’s shovel as a makeshift replacement far more than he was willing to let on.

He looked up again to meet Vetinari’s eyes. He hadn’t expected to find too much concern- which was good, because he didn’t find a great deal of it, not now. But what he did find was… interesting. Vimes knew how his own body reacted to finally getting out of danger, and it wasn’t exactly a surprise to find that Vetinari was the same, but whatever it was that was burning in those icy blue eyes, Vimes had a feeling that he knew where it was going.

“Tell me,” said Vetinari, “What are your thoughts on the.... Off-duty activities of Iron Girder’s staff?”

“Dunno,” said Vimes. “I’m surprised you haven’t told me all the rules, _Stoker Charlie Blake_.”

Vetinari smiled in a truly nasty manner. “Oh come now, was that at all appropriate from someone going by the name John Keel?”

“What?” said Vimes. “That’s just the first name that popped into my head.”

“Mm,” said Vetinari, his arms sliding around Vimes’s neck. “And that has nothing to do with anything I may have shared about a particular sergeant with the same name?”

“What, that you always wanted to fuck John Keel?”

“No,” said Vetinari with exaggerated patience, “I wanted _him_ to fuck _me_.”

Vimes gave him a look of grudging respect. “Who’d have thought _you’d_ have such a filthy mouth on you,” he said.

“Just trying to blend in,” said Vetinari. “Though I may have trouble reverting back to normal once we get back.”

“ _Not_ going to be a problem,” said Vimes, knowing full well that it was going to be a huge problem for future Vimes to deal with- but it sounded appealing now.

A lot of things sounded appealing right now, in fairness.

This really wasn’t the best time, Vimes knew. But here was Havelock, bright eyed and dishevelled and clearly up to something, and quite frankly they could both do with a way to get rid of the leftover energy from that encounter with the grags. Never mind ‘fight or flight’, after nearly getting yourself killed on the roof of a train it was more like fight or fuck- whatever it took to reassure yourself that all your bits and pieces were still there.

“How’s that leg of yours?” he said. Vetinari narrowed his eyes, though at this distance- what little distance was left between them- there was clearly no malice there.

“Do you _really_ care, or is this just a ploy to get me on my back?”

Vimes shrugged. “Can’t say I’m all that fussy about where we do it, to be honest, but if you fall on your arse it’ll probably ruin the mood. Get back over on that bunk, will you?”

“Is it going to hold our weight?”

“It’ll have to.” Vimes shoved Vetinari backwards and the two of them landed in an awkward tangle of limbs, the bunk’s wooden frame protesting but not giving way. Almost immediately, Vetinari’s quick fingers were undoing every button they could find, tugging at Vimes’s borrowed uniform.

“Careful,” said Vimes. “I already ripped one shirt today.”

“Leave it on then,” Vetinari said, waving one dismissive hand. “I did _say_ I liked a uniform, after all.”

"You say a lot," said Vimes. "Wish you bloody wouldn't." He bent to kiss Vetinari, the soft scratch of his beard just a little more present after a few days on the railway. Vetinari was greedy for it, welcoming him in, mouth pressed hot and eager against his own until, with a gasp at the shift of Vimes’s hips against his own, it very suddenly wasn't, and he was talking yet again.

"Gods, Sam-"

"John," Vimes growled.

"Oh?" said Vetinari, his expression suddenly sharp and full of interest. "I wasn't aware we were playing _that_ game."

"It's not a fucking game," said Vimes. "If someone hears us-"

"I doubt that identification will be their priority," said Vetinari drily. "Nor is it mine. In fact-" Vimes swore under his breath as Vetinari swiftly slid a hand inside his trousers.

"Problem?"

"Yeah," Vimes said through gritted teeth. "Hurry up."

“Patience, _Mr Keel_ ,” said Vetinari, stealing another kiss.

After that, it was all so easy; finding their way around unfamiliar clothing didn't entirely mask the familiarity with each other's bodies, though the distant clatter of Iron Girder rattling over the tracks did a much better job of masking the sounds of muffled voices and creaking furniture. Vimes needn't have worried even if it hadn't; Vetinari was soon speechless at last, though not without a considerable effort from Vimes himself. Still, it seemed like it was appreciated, if the gradually reddening teeth marks in his shoulder were anything to go by.

Vimes sat up, after, glancing back at Vetinari as he did so.

“D’you mind if I smoke?”

Vetinari stretched, wincing slightly at the pull of his still-stiff thigh muscles. "I suppose not," he said. “Just this once.” Vimes rummaged in his pockets for his cigar case, and Vetinari watched him carefully, eyes flickering over his hands and lips as he lit the cigar, though he made no effort to do anything about it- he just stayed where he was, watching Vimes with quiet, intense interest, waiting for him to start a conversation. Ever stubborn, Vimes made him wait, and then went straight into policeman mode.

“I take it that was Charlie talking to the rest of us before we left?”

“I couldn’t possibly say.”

Vimes snorted. “That’s a yes then. There’s no way you could have been at that dinner and started a shift shovelling coal in time.”

Vetinari didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself. All he did was ask more bloody questions- which, in Vimes’s opinion, was further proof that he’d been right.

“And you, Commander? Surely you must have left somebody else in charge?”

“Angua,” said Vimes promptly.

“Not Carrot?”

“ _Not_ Carrot, no,” said Vimes. “He’s a good lad, but if something were to happen to us… well, Angua’s less likely to see the good in everyone else who’s left behind, and if you want my opinion, that’s what Ankh-Morpork needs.”

Vetinari’s mouth twitched into what was very nearly a smile. “Cynical as ever, I see.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Quite right,” said Vetinari, plucking the cigar from Vimes’s hand. “ As you so accurately put it, Ankh-Morpork needs leaders who see the truth in people, not the best- although, arguably, seeing the truth enables us to _get_ the best out of them.” He took a drag on the cigar, blowing the smoke upwards and gazing up at it as if hoping to find meaning in the curling cloud. “It certainly seems to have worked on you, if nothing else.”

“Shut up,” said Vimes. “You’re getting sentimental. And you can give my cigar back and all, you cheeky bastard.”

“Come now, Sam- oh, my apologies- _John_ ,” said Vetinari pointedly. “I’m sure you can forgive a man for having a romantic moment on the railway.”

“Hmph. Not if he’s nicking my smokes I bloody can’t.”

Vetinari laughed, looking far younger than he had when Vimes had first come back into the cabin. He’d been in pain then, limping from the effort of moving again after trying to fight off the grags; now, after finally getting off his feet and into Vimes’s temporary bed, he was more relaxed than Vimes had seen him in quite some time.

It might be worth asking another question, then. A real one. An honest one, with the slightest bit of hope that it would get an honest answer.

“Would you do this again? You know, like, as a proper job?”

Vetinari turned in slight surprise. “It is a real job.”

“No, I mean- for good.”

Vetinari was silent for a moment. “No,” he said eventually. “The city is my home, and my work. If I’m ever too old for that, then most assuredly I’d be too old for this. No, I think it will do for the occasional holiday, but that would have to be it.”

"But if I decided to take Sybil on a nice train trip to the coast…?"

"The Patrician can't drop all his responsibilities to spend a week in Quirm,” said Vetinari, before adding thoughtfully, “But Stoker Blake just might."


End file.
